My Wrist Watch Hands Point to Peace

I invented a new season for life because I got tired of the winter spring summer fall pattern My paisley doesn't like to conform to the depression of polka dots only on the pocket square and not the entire outfit Where's the art in the plain white t? I see the aesthetic, but I want the screaming art to argue with my calm voice It's the beauty in the pain that you can't see until the scars have enough time to grow wings I used to feel most at peace listening to music on my bed as a haunting sleep would close my eyes I used to feel most at peace under the dim lights of cinema pumping hope into my veins where I had blood run free I used to feel most at peace on the solidarity of solo ventures between the court and I It would hum deathly echoes like lullaby's to my heart This trinity became my medical addiction as pride got in the way of God Then over the years my coffee finally became cold, and I missed the warmth of summer I could smell my own toxicity deeply rooted and swallowing my faith So, I questioned myself through the tears, I marked the points of pain with my pen, and dug up the weeds I planted and reaped This time I will sow truth within the uncomfortable moments Because in this season until forever I'm most at peace on the grounds of the earthquake Knowing that I can't move forward unless I shake things up Staying in a comfortable pattern only leads to a broken record repeating the line you hate to hear You are meant to break records p.s. peace is born in the growth of pain...